


The Water Gardens

by meisie



Series: Up Against the Wall [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Because that's sexy and considerate, Dorne, F/M, Five kingdoms left, Future Fic, Introspection, Jon minds the kids, Light Bondage, Married Sex, Romance, Shameless Smut, Skinny Dipping, Summer Vacation, architecture, precious beans, scenery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 03:15:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17634977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meisie/pseuds/meisie
Summary: Jon and Daenerys sneak off from tedious diplomatic talks to have a summer interlude. Vague sequel to Up Against the Wall but minimal plot, mostly all smut and sunshine, thirsty female gaze guaranteed.





	The Water Gardens

_ _

 

_ A/N: Procrastinating again, la la la. I’ve had a few plaintive queries about when am I going to update next, so I thought I’d be a stroppy madam and write a one shot instead. I like Dorne despite what this bloody fandom says about it. I also like the idea of Jon with some colour and minimal clothing, so does Dany. Enjoy, after 18 months of writing the Jonerys smut I don’t need to remind you that feedback means smut. No feedback means I go back to reading vampire books and looking at houses. _

 

_ Lovely moodboard by Justwanderingneverlost. Get well soon Ashleyfanfic, there is a pirate reference in there for you xxx _

  
  


She felt all her aggravations falling away with every piece of stiff, formal clothing she peeled off and tossed to the floor, with every breath of sea air she sucked into the bottom of her lungs, tangy with the clashing aromas of pine, salt and citrus. She was free, free to get naked and lounge and bathe and preen herself, alone when she rarely was, running out onto the terrace bare footed and bare arsed, admiring the view below her, the pool of water glistening and dancing, cool and green and inviting. 

The atmosphere inside the palace had been tense and turgid with heat, causing sweat to trickle down her back and between her breasts, eyes to grow leaden as men droned and dueled with words, her arse to shift on its hard carved chair. She had dealt with the meeting with the Dornish lords alone, setting her king loose to take the children to the pools and play all day in the glaring sun, hoping it would bring one of his rare smiles to his tempting lips and burnished colour to his moon-pale skin. 

Jon needed freedom as well, a taste of that future they still pined for, still out of reach after years of toil. With increasing power given over to the burgeoning elected council, and no wars to fight at present, their roles involved a lot of diplomacy, visiting each of the five kingdoms and the Bay of Dragons in a show of quiet authority. Her husband was less adept at the diplomatic dance than she, his blunt common sense not always welcome with slippery sods that needed flattery and evasion.  

She ran her hands idly over her body as she poised on the edge of the pool, the fountain in the centre shooting up a fine spray that hit her sticky skin like a thousand needles. It was not the same as it was, at her next name day she would be thirty and three years. Her belly was softer, her hips broader. Her legs still held their pretty shape and strength from years of riding both horse and dragon, but her breasts were decidedly matronly and full after suckling three babes, and there were threads in her hair that were the silver of age, not the silver of her house. 

She had lived a hard life, an eventful life, but she was still beautiful, so her lover said, the deepening lines around his dusky eyes and on his brow, and the strands of grey in his raven curls only adding to his own beauty. There was nothing soft about  _ him _ , his body still as hard and well-sculpted as ever, drawing the eye of tittering maidens and court ladies and brassy street tarts alike. There was probably a gaggle of sloe-eyed Dornish serving women following him about right now, fetching fruit and wine and ogling him in his wet breeches and linen shirt as he wrangled their three small dragons. 

She snorted at this, but then shrugged it off along with everything else, Daynes and Dalts and Martells, trade deals and marriage pacts, the slew of demanding ravens from King’s Landing, reavers in the west, slavers in the east, famine in the North, who still sought food relief even though they’d declared their independence years ago, knowing they would never refuse. She left it all on the floor of the summerhouse with her court clothes and leapt into the pool in a graceless splash, gasping and shrieking like a giddy girl at the shocking cold, but then skimming across the water like a fish, her unraveled hair her only veiling. 

The pool at the private summerhouse was fed by a cold spring that bubbled from a grotto in the manicured gardens, separate from the bore that fed the main pool complex that was open to the palace servants and smallfolk and lords and ladies alike, but the queen and king of Westeros had been granted their own space, with no need for concealing clothing or discretion. They could swim, gorge and swill and hopefully fuck in privacy. It had been too long since they had thoroughly enjoyed the latter for various petty and tiresome reasons. 

Sighing longingly, she rolled onto her back and let herself drift, enjoying the view of the small marble house with its intricate carvings, its glass doors open to reveal a bed swathed in saffron silk hangings, a couch, an ebony table laden with food and wine, and a painted peacock screen hiding a privy. The summerhouse was square and enclosed by a tall cypress hedge, which muffled the sounds of shrieks and laughter and sloshing water from the far side where her children were running wild. The private pool was surrounded by flat rocks warmed by the sun, little spiky plants with strange blooms growing out of every crack, a tall fig tree providing dappling shade. 

It was lovely and opulent and so comfortable compared to the stinking, teeming cesspool of the capital she wondered half-seriously if she could simply decree she was never coming back and would bloody well rule from Dorne instead. The food, the wine, the style of living, the fierce women and dangerous men had grown on her. Her husband the grim Northerner was half-beguiled, half-disapproving of this strange, hot blooded land he had been born in but never knew, but she vastly preferred it to any other place in the kingdoms, save her precious island in the Narrow Sea. 

Her mind was among the pink-tinged sunset clouds as she floated, skipping between things that were, things that are and things that had not yet come to pass despite her pure relaxation, tiny golden fish nibbling at her fanning hands, a frog croaking from a shaded corner. The noise from beyond the hedge was fading away as dusk drew on, and as she began to think about climbing out and taking a nap the wicket gate creaked, bare feet padding across painted tiles. 

She looked up to find Jon wet and bedraggled, his shirt sticking to him fetchingly, carrying his good boots. His eldritch curls were gathered in a messy bun, and the sun had got him good, his skin dark and flushed, likely to be red in the morning but in the fading light, he looked swarthy and disreputable. She smiled slowly at the sight, spreading her arms in an arch as he spotted her, her breasts bobbing above the water. His sooty eyes flashed as he took her in, and he dropped his boots.

‘You look like a mermaid waiting to lure a man to his doom,’ he said in that deep, rich voice she loved, and she moved towards the lip of the pool, her feet finding the stone floor as she leaned and looked up at him consideringly.

‘You look like a Volantene pirate with that black hair and beard and tanned skin,’ she observed. ‘It’s quite arresting. Shall we play a game where we pretend you have snatched me from my ship to ravish me in inventive ways?’ That made him snort with laughter, and she smiled again at the prized sound. She supposed she should ask after the children, do a mother’s fussing, but she was in a selfish, lusty, fey mood, wanting all her animal needs fulfilled before she could face her duties. 

‘I don’t have to pretend to come up with inventive ways to please my wife,’ he rumbled at her, drawing closer, his elegant feet close enough to reach out and tickle. It was still infuriating after all these years how perfectly formed he was, scars and all. How she liked drinking him in like a cool glass of lemon sherbet, knowing all his parts were hers, his pretty feet, pretty eyes, luxuriant hair, and lengthy, satisfying cock, already hardening in his damp breeches.

‘Come here,’ he said simply. ‘I’ve had my fill of water for today, lass, and I want to take you to bed where I can ravage you proper.’ 

She felt it, the shiver down her back that wasn’t a chill, the heavy liquid weight in her loins. Something wicked in her considered taking off across the pool and making him dive in and chase her, for the simple joy of making him cross and therefore rough and urgent, but her mischievous laugh was a giveaway, and he growled and moved quickly, hauling her sodden weight out of the pool. She stumbled and nearly fell, but he had her, crushing her against hard muscle and a harder cock. 

He kissed her in silent chastisement, his full lips hard and scratchy and demanding, scraping her raw with the depth of it, a dark promise of what he would do later between her thighs, tongue advancing and retreating until her bones melted and she moaned as wantonly as if it was the first kiss and not one of thousands. A quiet, thoughtful warrior who rarely looked to dominate other than on the battlefield, but nevertheless as a lover he was forceful, insistent, quickly learning what he wanted of her and taking it. 

He made her dizzy with it, the desire that made her yield like a skilled whore to a well endowed client, forgetting who she was outside of bed, a hard, tough facade to a man’s world who respected women little and liked taking orders from them less. She could break free and run to make her surrender harder for him, but she couldn’t move, already he had her limbs drugged and her mind fogged, her body gathered up like she weighed no more than a bolt of silk. 

He threw her on the sumptuous bed, not giving a shit she was dripping all over the jewelled covers, and was all over her, his clothes annoyingly rumpled against her flesh and barring her from her own explorations. She snarled up at him and yanked at his shirt and breeches all at once, not doing a good job of it, and he smirked against her throat, obliging by rising up in a straddle to shed his shirt in a puff of linen. She got an eyeful of ribbed stomach slashed with old wounds and the faint trail of hair leading below, and became fixated at the play of his long fingers at his laces, pulling at each eyelet too slowly, his lashes lowered with false modesty. 

He was no longer awkward and fretting that he was not good enough for her, he knew he was, she had shown it in countless ways over their decade together. They could have died, they  _ should _ have died, but they were still here despite the odds, laden with many cares and responsibilities but whole and alive and ever wanting each other, even when they were too weary to do anything with it. The gift she had paid the price for in the icy wastes of magic and myth and the creeping cold of death was well worth the sacrifice.  

As soon as his thick, veined cock popped free from his breeches, she went for him, grabbing his hips and curling in half to take as much as she could between her lips, tasting sweat and musk and the nothingness of water, rewarded with a gravelly groan and a curse as good as a pirate’s. His hands were fisted in her hair in an instant, not to push her off but to make her take more, feeding her with his full length until the gag reflex made her flail in mild distress. Backing off as much as he would allow, she used her teeth and tongue to good effect, not to drive him to the edge but relax into it. 

The grip on her head loosened, and she was free to explore with the tip of her tongue, jabbing it into the sensitive spot at the base, working the ring of skin around the tip. Her kinked neck protested as she scooted lower, delicately taking his stones into her mouth, one then the other, another vibrating groan felt in her throat. Her hands found his rounded cheeks, raking nails, dragging them down the cleft, his subtle noises cut with another curse. ‘Dany, stop,’ he stuttered as she sucked at him harder. ‘I’m going to come if you don’t bloody stop…’

There was a flurry of movement, and she was pushed back against the pillows by his superior strength, a kiss against her stretched lips and he was gone, sliding off the high bed and shedding his breeches. Pouting a little, she watched him prowl the room looking for something, his cock standing horizontal and gleaming, his bottom flexing as he fished about on the floor, inky curls trailing from where she had torn at his knot. He was so pleasing to look at she forgot her pique and mooned like a serving wench. 

‘Where is it,’ he muttered. ‘I saw you wearing it this morning...ah there.’ 

There was an intimidating glint in his blackened eyes as he stalked towards her supine form, a long length of red silk in his hands that had been looped around the neckline of her gown. She raised a brow, feigning indifference though her belly tightened with excitement. He was going to restrain her so she couldn’t escape, not that she would want to, but oh she loved it anyway, that feeling of helplessness, an object to be toyed with, no say on what transpired, trust mixed with lust, as keen as a blade that cut her to pieces.

Mounting the bed and spreading her legs, shunting her further up against the pillows, he did nothing but kiss her throat and breasts, her hands free to untwine his hair and spread it across her skin, hold him against her so his beard scratched and lips found her nipple to suckle and nip like a nursing babe. She ground her seeping loins against his hairy thigh, feeling the pull at her breast in her core. Her ears were buzzing, eyes too heavy to hold open though she loved to watch his bristly mouth wrapped around her peaks. The coolness of her swim was replaced by prickly heat, and she whined impatiently as he lingered, needing to be bound and consumed.

Gods, his eyes were so black they were like fathomless wells, his hand drifting down a leg to bend it back over her body, a kiss on her foot before he looped the silk around her ankle. Then the other leg, also bound by the fragile fabric so tight it dug into her skin. She was folded in half, her hands free but useless, her ankles bound to the carved ebony headboard, bottom lifted and placed on a pillow, thighs parted enough that he could reach her cunt with mouth and fingers and cock. 

His expression was unreadable as he surveyed his work, but she knew he loved her arse, spanking it and grabbing it and on occasion invading it, mastering her with equal pain and pleasure. She hitched in a breath and tensed, wondering whether that shattering blend was on his mind for tonight, but he merely sat back and grazed the tips of her fingers down her slit, opening her up with a few passes and eliciting a mewl. 

She wanted his mouth on her, not delicate and careful but devouring her, and she got what she wanted, her wolf splitting her in half with both hands and licking up the centre from arse to nub. He used all the tricks he had acquired over the years that she never tired of, the pull and suckle, the flat of his tongue against her nub, the jab of the tip to expose the pearl, fingers burrowing inside her and beckoning, another finger plugged in her bottom. Rough, greedy, ruthless, slurping her down his throat and grunting in satisfaction. 

Her trapped lower half moved in waves, her hands grabbed onto the covers, whimpering then crying as the pleasure reached its crescendo and her head threatened to blow apart if she didn’t let go. At her sharp cry, the upward thrust of her body, he crammed three fingers inside her channel and ground deep. When she came, it was so quick and violent it was at the threshold of agony, and he didn’t spare her, sucking her throbbing flesh into his mouth until she begged for him to stop. 

Her legs were in the way, so she could barely see her lover, but he was up and in a crouch above her, making sure she was at the right height to take his cock, bound so tight against the bed she could only move a little to deaden the impact of his thrusts. He had stretched her with his hand, but she was still very tight when he plunged into her, so tight she felt deliciously torn as he found her limit and pushed her still further. 

His hands found hers, pinning them down so she couldn’t move at all, she could only be the vessel for his long, smooth strokes. Legs kinked a little and she could glimpse his face as he strained and hammered her into submission, stretching her muscles and making space for himself as she whined and keened, then moaned for more, always more, sparking his mind with the language of a slut, not a queen.  _ Fuck me, mark me, fill me up… _

A circular grind that kissed her womb, her name coupled with filthy words, she closed her eyes as she howled and centred herself, feeling his thickness within her, the weight of his body bending her double, the sawing of her bonds against her ankles. She could not reach herself to toy with her nub and bring an end, she was trapped in the limbo of relentless pleasure that ached and burned, but she gave herself to it, a bird tossed in a tempest with no place to land and rest. 

The length pounding within her cunt surged and a cry was ripped out of her lover, and suddenly she was there with him, her orgasm snatching her out of the stormy sky and bringing her home, her shaking body absorbing every pulse of his seed inside her womb, perfectly at peace though her nerves fired and ears roared and her head filled with light. He collapsed over her, reminding her of every ache from her awkward position, but she settled rather than fought, a freed hand managing to find his sweaty back to stroke him idly. 

When her ankles were untied at last, she curled her protesting legs around him to bring him down, trapping him firmly in turn, smoothing bouncing curls out of his face so she could look on him properly, his face rosy and eyes glittering like polished jet, his mouth as soft and red as a woman’s and as luscious as fruit as she kissed him possessively. ‘I trust you had a nice day with our children while I sweltered and yawned inside,’ she said. ‘Or else you wouldn’t be in such a good mood.’

He smiled at her, a sweet, slow smile that made her thudding heart flutter. ‘Aye, I had a good day chasing around those little buggers, but this part was the best part,’ he whispered. ‘And I don’t intend to let you sleep at all tonight, so you better mind the children tomorrow while I deal with that quarrelsome lot of lords for us.’

Her heart fluttered again, and something within her mind that had grown wary from too many tragedies, too much ugliness warned her against being so recklessly happy, but she squashed it down, settling him against her breasts, knowing that he was safe, she was safe, and there were decades more of these moments together, no matter how old or withered, saggy or tired they got. 

Tears were threatening, stupid girlish tears from welling emotion, so she found some of her usual fire and spice, pressing a kiss on his furrowed brow. ‘It seems a sound plan your Grace, but you can only keep me awake if you wine and dine me, and let me tie  _ you _ up for a change.’

‘It would be my honour to serve your Grace, now and always.’

THE END


End file.
